Sojourn on Mount Purgatory
by James Ray Edwards
Summary: Post-Episode 4: Alliance of the Golden Witch - Again, He had been beaten and thrust deeper into the thrall of mystery and madness, but His despair was still not satisfactory. Now journey He must to Purgatorio's peak to grasp that which cannot be seen...
1. Lion's Trembling

Disclaimer:

I do not own any of the creative properties used in the creation of this work of fan fiction. On the other hand, any specific author created characters I created for this fic (despite how unoriginal they may be at times) are mine. So without further ado, let's get on with the show!

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required.

* * *

Sojourn on Mount Purgatory

Endless 1-1:

Lion's Trembling

A When They Cry fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

The young lion with hair of red sighed.

Gazing up at the ceiling in his ridiculous four-poster bed of the kingly persuasion, he could not help but bemoan the desolation of his utter isolation. How kind of his archenemy had been to prepare him a guest room right here in the infernal isle of Mount Purgatory! There was no escape for her home was very much a prison surrounded on all sides by an endless, writhing void colored bluish-black like a fresh bruise, a grim parody of the sea. He would wager good money it would swallow him whole in less time than it took for his host to revive him; after all, she was that sort of fickle woman.

Ushiromiya Battler scowled, his eyes zeroing out, far and distant.

What the hell had he been thinking? Why in the name of all that is good did he embrace THAT Beatrice of the Golden?! Had it not been clear as a Summer's day that to enter her arms would mean his resignation from the game? He had her. He had that damn woman by the throat. Had her, had her, had her, had her, had her by the throat! Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. KILL. Kill her filthy!

...but it didn't end like that, did it? And so with this, have I broken my promise with Ange? ....H-Hell no! Battler flatly denied in his heart, biting down against the rising bile of self-loathing. Don't joke around like that, Battler. Pull yourself together, man!

There was no way he had gone back on that sacred vow! Definitely. Absolutely, Battler swore he would breakthrough the Legend of the Golden Witch and free his parents, his family, the servants---no---everyone from the endless purgatory of Rokkenjima in 1986. In the one minute afforded for the human side to counter with his Blue Truth, he could have exposed the falsehoods of Beatrice and shown her to be the mere human she was truly!

...but that didn't happen, did it? Battler rolled over onto his side in disgust.

At the final turn, something---or perhaps---someone had shaken his absolute certainty. What foolishness! A chance like that won't come around any time soon; miracles are improbably low for a reason, so why had he squandered the miracle given to him by dearest Ange?

What is it? What is it? What is it? What WAS it?! Her hair, her scent, her face, her lips, her eyes; what could have bewitched him so terribly? Blundered. Blundered. Blundered. Tumbling. Tumbling. Tumbling. FALL. FALL. FALL!

_Falling_.

...**fallen**.

The anguished young man tossed and turned in the tortured throes of self-loathing, clawing at his mane of red hair, as he turned the chessboard over and over again, hoping to gain that invisible pawn that would provide the answer he sought. Useless. Useless. Useless. It was all useless! After all, if Ushiromiya Battler could not master himself, how could he be possessed of the audacity to know the truth of his own heart? Thus, Battler collapsed unto the scornful embrace of the satin sheets in a haze of acrid sweat, spent and wasted. Waiting in the wings of the darkest recesses of his soul, like a golden circling flock of carrion, so did the cruel shears of loneliness begin their deadly work with renewed passion on his beating heart once more, the exquisite pain numbed by the sweet poison of his doubt.

Always someone or another had saved him from the brink of despair, such was his lot in life, but Battler was sick of being saved. No, he was heartsick, driven into a corner like an animal, with vicious, searing thoughts of revenge, sweet vengeance for his kith and kin, whom have been made toys and sacrifices to the cruel witches time and time again! It was unspeakable torture---endless torture---for an intense, yet kind boy like Battler to be forced to watch this divine tragedy play out to the same inevitable conclusion. There was no mercy, no quarter given in this "game"!

And yet, why!? Why had he done such a damnable thing as speak those words and embrace his enemy, his sworn enemy, Beatrice the Golden Witch, when the truth of Rokkenjima had been so close within his grasp?!

Ah, it's no good. No good at all. The more I beat myself up, the more I begin to hate myself! thought the young lion in anguish, as he threw himself off the bed, lest it become his coffin. If this goes on much longer, I'll really start to fade away---again.

_Ange_.

At least for his dear sister's sake, Ushiromiya Battler could---no---had to pull himself together. His knees felt so weak and his vision swayed in the drunk red room, like fresh blood in burgundy wine, but even so... He will not run. He will not hide. That's why-!

"UUUOOOHHHhhh! BEEEAAATTTRRRIIICCCEEE!"

In a flash of roaring lightning, the very same Ushiromiya Battler evaporated into an explosion of golden confetti---no---butterflies, bursting through the windows and into the rumbling maelstrom beyond. Wherever his destination be he knew not, but he was driven by a singular burning mad desire that would surely guide him there no matter what may come...

Beatrice the Golden Witch.

...for her golden sneer would rip, slash, and tear asunder the sick weakness in his trembling heart!

* * *

To be continued...


	2. The Shore

The Devil's Wisdom:

Suspension of Disbelief required.

* * *

Sojourn on Mount Purgatory

Endless 1-2:

The Shore - _Ante-Purgatorio_

A When They Cry 3 fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

On a shore, so close, yet so far, there sounded an awesome roar amidst a terrible typhoon. For what ails the heart lions do not howl like wolves or cry like men, they roar and prowl upon the desolate earth, fangs and claws at the bear. He seeks that which is inscrutable, unseen to neither sight or smell or hearing, whose flesh and blood to tear and rend can soothe like a cool balm upon the cancerous madness that fills his thoughts with murder and lust, foreign to such a noble hunter.

Such corrosive emotion is the way of humans, desperate and tiny-hearted vermin, who would do anything to ensure their insignificant existence, and is unbecoming of one so dignified. Roar and let the heavens know the truth of his suffering for it was a wound made by the delusions of men:

Witches.

Until he could see her "Golden Sneer", Ushiromiya Battler was certain he would wander forever. What he sought was not the warmth of love, but the caustic cruelty of hate! Only if he could see it again could he remain "Ushiromiya Battler". Without Beatrice's "Smile", what would he be then? Already he could feel himself changing, becoming distorted, something NOT "himself"!

"**_BBBEEEAAATTTRRRIIIICCCCEEE_**_**!!!**_"

Battler's roar resounded in a bolt of blue thundering across the boiling black night, as he cast a fist into the damp sand bank. Again and again, the lion roared and raged but none would answer his terrible cry, the typhoon bearing silent witness. Where could Beatrice the Golden be? Since when did she not enjoy an opportunity to sate her peerless sadism with the heartache of humans?

The rain poured on in sheets of freezing sleet, as Battler ran up and down the length of the beach, slipping, falling, standing, and stumbling. His senses bewildered by the fury and noise. Left was right. Down was up. Cold was hot. One plus one equaled four!

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?! WHY WOULD SHE NOT ANSWER!?

Soon the lion fell, dumping Ushiromiya Battler into the muddy sand. There was no grace or dignity to be found here, save for a deposed, waterlogged prince, his once white clothes stained earthen, no different from a commoner. Though exhausted and blind as a babe, the elements having sapped the strength from his corroded body, fading and crackling, stubbornness was nevertheless his strong point and Battler roared again.

That woman. That cruel woman's name!

A foolish gesture of defiance perhaps for she had abandoned him once before, but never again: had she not promised that Beatrice the Golden would neither run or hide?

..._So come, Beatrice! Feast thine eyes upon this wretched, unsightly form and choke at thine own peril in laughter_.

Lo, did a laugh greet Battler, downtrodden and soaked, igniting the spark of hope in him for an instant, before the gathering vision of gold crushed him in disappointment, "Oh ho ho ho, and here I feared what in heaven's name could be making such a terrible cry here on the isle of sin! I thought it might be a manticore or a chimera sent on the loose from the Netherworld as a mean-spirited prank, but instead what fun and surprise it is to find you, Ushiromiya Battler."

Beatrice...? No. The Beatrice of the last era... Her teacher.

"Vir...gI...Ria-guwhk!" he spoke with alarming difficulty.

The disturbance did not go unnoticed by Virgilia, a normally dignified and maternal woman, unlike her errant disciple. Beneath the shelter of her tasteful parasol, those rarely opened eyes revealed themselves, flashing in the ephemeral lightning, and a glimmer of ghastly horror flickered at the sight of the "Ushiromiya Battler" in them. Nay: the truth was that misshapen pile of writhing meat, oozing black and red, as twisted stakes of blue purged themselves from the muck could no longer be called Ushiromiya Battler.

He understood, as the bittersweet darker than black descended over his sight...

"B-Battler-kun!" the witch screamed, abandoning in a panicked haste the good manners and customs of her parasol.

Yes. This... Was... Fitting.

* * *

To be continued...


	3. Respite

Dante's Query:

So it begins?

* * *

Sojourn on Mount Purgatory

Endless 1-3:

Respite ~ Virgilia the Finite

A When They Cry 3 fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

Light: in olden times, it would have been proof of a miracle produced by the hand of gods, for humans since birth know to fear darkness. The night is the time of mystery and nightmares, where the sin dwelling in the veins of mortals bubbles forth from the deepest recesses of the soul to make merry with all manner of evil and supernatural. So do they say, "Go with God in the light", for it is in day that the one just king reigns supreme.

Ushiromiya Battler was quite astonished to find himself seeing sun once more, much less enjoying a satisfying lap pillow on what felt like a perfectly refreshing day in Spring. The warmth of the azure sky seeping through the vines and roses of the arbor was like a soothing balm on his anguished heart, for he had not seen or felt its touch since he left the earthly coil in the first game of the Golden Witch. Only his other self, Ushiromiya Battler the White King, could experience such a simple joy that Ushiromiya Battler the Prisoner had taken for granted.

Speaking of which, Battler could not help but notice that his lap pillow was awfully comfy! He must have been dreaming for sure to have afforded himself such a luxury, and boy, he had spared no expense either. The velvety silk skirt of dark color, with a frilly "flowering" inner skirt of white, was a joy against his baby cheeks. Why; the big-in-all-the-right-places hostess Battler, ahem, conjured up even went as far as to comb his hair and caress his head, humming a pleasant lullaby that put him totally at ease. Truly, he was the receiver of a service too good to be true.

The gal even picked the perfect bouquet to titillate his senses: vanilla.

...then a curious thought occurred to the young man. The voice of the girl, no, woman he was with, her colors, her---aura...

Battler tensed up, in spite of himself, shattering the illusion of a carefree afternoon in a peaceful rose garden to pieces with a single bolt of suspicion.

"_Tut tut_, it was good I finished adjustments on the _geis_ sooner than expected, methinks," the woman noted in bemusement, her hand flitting away from his person.

"It's been awhile, hasn't it, Virgilia?" Battler said aloud, perhaps a bit more coldly than he would have liked.

Truth be told, the young man and the "good" witch had not spoken face to face since the events of the third game. How auspicious they would be reunited now in the wake of yet another failure on his part.

Ange...

"Please, do not hate yourself," Virgilia's gentle chiding interjected into his thoughts.

It was nostalgic, reminding him of the few times Kumasawa-baachan had scolded him as a boy for his mischief, and to think it had been that old woman that the good witch had the gall to use as her disguise! ...He feared. Oh, how Battler loathed and trembled to think that in this twisted world, all of his dear memories with Kumasawa had been an act, and he was the big sucker being pampered by his enemy the entire time.

"My _geis_ is but a weak dam of sand, holding back the flood of blackness in your soul. The more you hate, the stronger the current flows, until it breaks the dam and your vessel becomes no more. It was difficult, excruciatingly so, to restore you as you are now and make you forget for a time your fate to be torn apart by your own hand."

He had been torn apart by his own hands, she says? Battler scoffed inwardly, curling the Super Battler inside him into a tougher ball so that he may better resist the witch's subliminal words. _Pfftt_, what nonsense! That Virgilia would have to try much harder than this if she wanted to play a trick on him again.

As if sensing his denial of a serious matter at hand, Virgilia ran her subtle delicate fingers through his hair, sending a shock of shivers down his spine, "Do you not remember how you came to be here, Battler-kun?"

He would have shaken her off, reviled at her touch, but that would be just childish. Battler refused even to give the witch the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. Still, her question seemed oddly nonsensical; thus, it irked him and he tried to remember.

"It is all right if you do not recall, but listen carefully to what I offer you..." she went on in grave tones. "In the world beyond mortal coil, the soul is worth more than any price that can be named, the absolute denominator. Certainly, you have grown much since coming to _Puragatorio_, Ushiromiya Battler, but recent events appeared to have sown grave discord in you. A distortion has festered between the ideal and the real: Battler-kun and Ushiromiya Battler. You agreed to disagree and reject, tearing each other apart."

He tore himself apart. Battler did not want to acknowledge the truth of whatever damn fool abstraction Virgilia was trying to get him to believe, but that image of him, burned into her eyes: scrap meat, black ooze, bleeding red truth, and twisted blue stakes... Yes, he remembered now and it left a cold knife buried in his gut, as something right over his chest burned angrily.

"Pay me no heed, if you wish it so. I am but a guide, after all. It is Beatrice, methinks, that you wish---must see if this matter is to be resolved, for I am Virgilia the Finite Witch, whose miracles are sweet and short as a midsummer night's dream."

She was not obligated to help him in any way. Would it not have been simpler to have called Beatrice to clean up the mess? Thus, the question becomes: why. Why had Virgilia intervened this time? And why must she be so cruel?!

The words, the accusation came tumbling out through clenched teeth in a growl, despite all of Battler's protests, "Hey, Virgilia, why... Why did you betray me? I thought... I thought you were a good witch!"

It hurt to ask, like tearing open the stitches of a healing wound, but if Battler did not ask, he knew he would never be satisfied. He had to settle the score, one way or another.

"Ho ho ho, how naive, Battler-kun," Virgilia laughed but it was not the kind of graceless cackling he might expect from Beatrice. Again, she had taken after someone else dear to him: Kyrie-san. It was the exact same hapless tone she might give him, when speaking of a peculiar fallacy to her theories, "But I know you well enough that you would not ask a trifling question, especially not so earnestly."

God help him if she had been that Kyrie-san he had come to admire and emulate, too. It would be devastating blow. Just crushing him.

"I shall answer by way of my favorite playwright and poet, a truly gifted man, whom I can only lament that our time together was much too short: 'There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so', and thus, a witch by any other name would be a witch still. Will that suffice?"

Battler made a face, thunderheads gathering in his blue eyes, an expression that had been quite common on the late Goldsmith, master summoner. Had he seen it himself, the young man would have been caught completely aghast by the disturbing resemblance.

"_Tsk_, isn't it a bit early to be parroting vague words from dead people I don't know?"

Virgilia, of course, knew better than to point such a fact out. It would only do more harm than good at present.

"Surely, the meaning does not escape you? My, I am offended if that is so, for both his sake and mine."

"Oh, I'm thinking it over, but I'm just totally enjoying your lap right now, so it's taking some time. It's not every day a gorgeous gal just offers me her lap and company free of charge, y'know?"

Damn. What a thing to come out from his smart mouth, so Battler thought, but oddly enough, the burn in his chest had lessened with his irreverent remarks, and he discovered himself actually relaxing, enjoying the circumstance in fact. Battler wondered if the "chess game" would be so pleasant if he could kick back in Beatrice's lap, too? He smiled roguishly at the thought and his change of mood did not go unnoticed by his hostess.

"Ho ho, in that case my young scoundrel, do you believe I valiantly rode to this forsaken isle, lance and shield in hand upon fleet of hoof Sleipnir, all for naught?"

"If you repeated it in the red truth, I'd believe you."

Virgilia giggled mysteriously in turn, brushing her fingers through his mane of red hair. He had to wonder if she was starting to enjoy the moment too?

"You are doubtful, an understandable response, for am I not as inscrutable and cunning as my disciple?"

"I'd say so. It's like there's a bunch of Virgilias: Virgilia the Teacher, Virgilia the Woman, and Virgilia the Witch, like that time with Eva-obasan, and...Beato?"

Battler's brows knitted together in deep contemplation. Certainly, at that time---yes, even before there final showdown---Ushiromiya Battler the White King had seen one more Beatrice up in the window of the main house...

"Oh ho ho ho, what fun words the young man says! No wonder Beatrice is so fascinated with you, yes? So astute and quick to learn."

Afterward when he chided and cajoled with Beatrice to fight him seriously, did he not ask her that he wanted to know what kind of person she was? What her true desire is? ...that he did.

"Heh," the young man responded absentmindedly, missing out altogether on the subtle insinuations of the witch's words, "didn't anyone ever tell you that there's more than meets the eye to Ushiromiya Battler-sama?"

Yes, Battler was beginning to understand better what had brought him here to Virgilia and that perhaps there was an element of truth to what she spoke. However, it would be a damn fool thing to trust her completely.

"I am in remiss, truly so, for being ignorant of such audacity," the witch apologized to him in honeyed tones.

...even though, he wanted to trust her badly, just like before. She had saved him, and her influence had been a soothing balm to temper his reckless anger for a time. Also, whether Virgilia knew it or not, she had helped to relieve his intense feelings of isolation, just by knowing he had an ally whom he could trust implicitly. Though he knew suspicion and mistrust to be his strongest defense, Battler wanted to be free of his solitary torture, desperately so.

The young man sighed, "...Say, Virgilia."

"I am listening."

"Will everything really be resolved that cleanly and easily?"

As expected of her eminence, the Finite Witch managed to keep her poise intact at the loaded inquiry, though Battler had been woefully ignorant of its portents in his innocence.

"Everything you ask? How vague. I would ask you be more specific, Battler-kun, even this venerable teacher is no mind reader."

"The game," he deadpanned flatly. "When I win it, will everything really go back the way it should have been? Just another plain ol' family conference with the adults fighting dirty for dirty money that us kids have no business poking our noses into? That kind of ordinary October in 1986?"

"Ho," a difficult question, but one she could evade easily enough, "and what do you think will happen when you win?"

"...I'm worried. Somehow, I get the feeling I wasn't satisfied with the 'Truth' of the last game. That's why..."

Abruptly, Battler seethed as if physically in pain, raising the alarm within her senses, but before Virgilia could speak, he had already made the next move.

"H-Hey, is it, is it possible... That this fight was never between just me and Beatrice in the first place? I heard... I heard Ange was brought here by that cat-tailed witch, Bern-something. And... And I have distant memories of---_dreams_."

"Dreams?" she went along with him, genuinely interested and fearful of what insights had just dawn in the boy's astute mind. As much of a magnanimous oaf he sold himself to be, Virgilia had seen plenty to confirm that Ushiromiya Battler was every bit Kinzo's grandson.

"Dreams where I met that Bern and the other one, Lambda-whatever, saying they would help me out."

"Hmm."

"I probably should be grateful, but now that we've come this far, it makes me uneasy, see? I got this ugly feeling. This game's rigged and I can feel it. How could this farce have ever been called a fair fight between me and Beato? There's too many people butting in from the sidelines, and the truth... With all of them getting in the way, there is no way the truth of Rokkenjima that I'm searching for will ever show itself!"

Incredible. Virgilia was astounded to see the indisputable proof of how much this boy---nay---man had grown in just four games in the Game of the Golden Witch. Truly, what a fearsome opponent the witches have chosen, and what a shame it is that they met under such unpleasant circumstances.

"Ah, but consider this: what if the truth another seeks differs from yours, Battler-kun? I, too, am a participant in this pitched battle, am I not? Though I am but a piece, I cannot allow my foolish disciple to fall here. Ho ho ho, there are many more lessons yet I wish to teach her, for she is still a thousand years too soon to be calling herself, 'Beatrice the Endless Witch'."

Battler made not a sound at her counter. With his expression turned away, it was hard to gauge his thoughts for humans were creatures that spoke through the body as much as they did through language. How dreadful that Ushiromiya Battler had been chosen as her willful disciple's opponent; the disparity between the two players was becoming increasingly apparent. It would not be long before he has surpassed Beatrice.

"...I failed," if it is fated, then Virgilia thought it could not hurt to pass on her will to him, "once as her teacher, and to add to my sins, I failed as a woman, whom she loved as the mother she never knew..."

Who else could be trusted? Certainly not those fickle witches who have used and abused her disciple so much.

"If possible, I seek a future where all sins can be forgiven, but at the least, I will not abandon Beatrice. Never again."

There was a crisp intake of breath. To whom that breath belonged, Virgilia the Finite Witch could not be certain, nor would she bother to worry. What was done is done, and she must hurry Ushiromiya Battler along on his journey, before all was lost.

"It was a fruitful conversation, but as much as I have enjoyed partaking, it would be unwise for you to tarry much longer with I, Battler-kun. I am but Virgilia the Finite. My magic cannot hold your soul together for long; therefore, you have but one recourse: you must ascend Mount Purgatory and meet with Beatrice, then and only then will your soul be satisfied."

Battler rose and sat up on the bench beside her; his expression impassive.

"The madness that brought you here by fate or coincidence to the underbelly of the game board was not a dream. You have arrived, certainly, to the other face of Rokkenjima, _Purgatorio_, where the souls of the deceased and defeated go to be purified in preparation for the coming game."

At her proclamation did his face ashen in wide-eyed astonishment, "Then, this place is...!"

"Yes, on this impossible mountain, isolated on an absurd island, all of the Ushiromiya household are cosigned, along with many more lost souls. Do not ask me how a realm that would be under the stewardship of God's very own angels has fallen into such disrepute as to have changed hands with the Devil's agents, transforming purgatory into a second Inferno. What ought to concern you more is the steep ascent to the Earthly Paradise where Beatrice resides."

Spurned on by urgency, Virgilia stood, dispelling the illusion of the magnificent rose garden into a splash of gold to reveal the truth of all. They had been hidden away in a cave, much to Battler's private chagrin, providing refuge from the howling maelstrom of dark wind and chilling rain that clawed angrily at them from the entrance. The bench they had shared in the arbor had been nothing more than a remarkably flat stone slab. Now, the young man could not help but feel a little guilty at taking advantage of the witch's hospitality.

"The first terrace is guarded by your nemesis, where beyond this cave and up the cruel slippery slope she waits at her court. I can only pray that you have the wisdom and the courage to overcome your sins."

"Hey, hold on a-" Battler held up his hands, quite taken aback by the sudden rush. Yet as soon as Virgilia had spoken those words, his mind jumped and off he was whisked away in the heat of the moment. "Wait! Did you just say my sins? ...Is this the same thing as what Beatrice was going on about?"

"Perhaps, you will discover that answer; perhaps not."

"_Tsk_, stingy," he groused, but he should not have expected a straight answer at this point of the game.

"Ho, then as proof of my generosity," Virgilia gestured with a flick of her wrist, producing a sparkle of golden butterflies to gather into her favorite wand," allow me to bestow upon you a boon. May it keep you in good health and guide you to paradise."

Battler stepped back in flabbergasted protest, not knowing what to expect, but as simple as a chastising tap to his forehead, he found himself garbed in a great cloak, not unlike what he had seen his old geezer of a grandfather wear. On top of that, the witch had exchanged his dress shoes for sturdy boots, and given him a pair of leather gloves too. Battler did not know what to make of his new getup, but he guessed he should be grateful, considering...

"That woman. I swear, she always runs away when we're just getting comfortable around each other. Could she still be shy around guys at her age? _Ihihihihihi_! Can't be right?"

Virgilia was gone.

"Heh, guess there's nothing better to do but go up, huh?" Battler chuckled wryly, pulling the cowl over his head. "Well, let's see what you got waiting for me on this crazy mountain of yours, eh, Beato?"

And so purgatory roared its challenge, with lightning and fury.

---

To be continued...


	4. Rabbit Hole

**Darkness**...

T'was darkness amongst the night, in the forgotten center of the old world, summoned by a madman driven to insanity by love unrequited that wreaked havoc like an epidemic in the rumbling menace of drowning air, which embraced and hounded the lone pilgrim. To _Purgatorio_'s summit he sought, trudging against the steep watery slope, boots slathered in encumbering mud. Every step a Herculean effort, every breath bled the strength of his aching bones, but onward the pilgrim pushed, cinching his cowled cloak tighter against the cold fury of the elements.

The storm had not abated since he began the journey from the respite of a cave hollowed out into the flank of the mighty mountain, once domain of God's chosen, now descended into the auspice's of Hell. Any ordinary soul would dare not brave its treacherous slopes in such wretched conditions, a powerful deterrence that has sent the pilgrim careening in a dervish failing limbs more than once. They were not worthy, so _Purgatorio_ appeared to howl, turning away all who had washed upon its shores to throw them back into the raging whirlpool where Hell may claim them.

Ushiromiya Battler though could not be more different from the plebeian. He was woefully ignorant of the consequences, glorious and heretical. God and the Devil could shut up and stay the hell out of his business for all the nano- of a second he would spare them. Neither of them ever did a damn thing for him, and they probably never will because he had a score to settle with: a "Witch".

Every step he took was in defiance of Her. It was not pain he felt nor weariness of body, but a euphoria of joy that with every centimeter he fought for, oft on his hands and knees, he brought himself that much closer to the object of his revenge---and salvation. Only the powerless lay powerless, quivering in fright under their beds waiting to be "saved" by some miraculous deliverance, but not him. Battler understood better now.

There was no miracle other than what is made by a human's own two hands; this maxim he believed! Therefore, Battler would not tire, would not give in, until his enemy lay driven at his feet and his family saved at long last. He would prove himself worthy of such a chance here on this very mountain, which sought to throw him back into the sea of blackness. It was a passionate decree that lit the fires in the embers of his wavering heart brightly, yet...

...a part of him only looked on in reserved silence.

The air was cold and harsh, adding to the misery of having a constant barrage of icy rain batter him to and fro, with the whimsy of the typhoon's gales, who could turn violent at a moment's notice. He would be forced to ground himself into the slurry of mud and rock as best as he could, waiting out the worst, before trudging on into the unknown. Illumination came only in harsh glimpses of lightning that would show his path for a time, before being swallowed up in the dark.

Next time he met Virgilia, Battler swore he would ask for a lantern, or whatever, to light his way and make the going a little easier. Hey, it was not as if he was asking for a flashlight, right? That would be just insulting for his hostess! _Iihihihihihi_!

Though speaking of the going, Battler admitted it was slow (and tough), but progress was progress, and he doubted his "opponents" would keep him waiting forever. Beatrice and her fantastical train of demons and servants were not the kind of folks, who followed a human's writ of common sense. After all, they were fighting tooth and nail behind all that suave bluster and trickery to prove their own existence. Shocking, bombastic, an ironic revelation; they would make the first move soon enough...

But I bet they'd be mad as hell, if I slipped by all of them and reached Beatrice's bedroom first, so thought Battler with a wry grin, because they spent too long thinking how to surprise me. Ihihihihi!

Naturally, the irony of which would occur to the young man later in hindsight, his roving gloved hands struck "gold" then, quite sharply, eliciting a roaring oath. He recoiled away on reflex, lurching back onto his rear with an undignified flop. Thank goodness, Virgilia had been generous in the length of her selection, or else Battler figured he would have to deal with the unpleasant feeling of having wet mud up in his boxers. Just appalling really!

Caught up in the throbbing ache of his hand, it took him a moment to take stock of his immediate surroundings. He had arrived at a dead end evidently with only three choices laid out before him: 1. Go back down the slope from this landing. 2. Go jump off the cliff face here and into the ocean. 3. Give that golden gateway in front of him a shot, which was very helpfully giving off its own shimmering light.

Battler supposed he only had himself to blame for his blunder, looking down all the time and not paying attention to what was in front of him. He would bet his socks that the demons were keeling over in laughter right about now, having scored their first petty victory. As for the present, they left for him, well...

"Now, isn't this a piece of work?" Battler whistled in appreciation, rising up to his feet.

The "gate" of gold standing about as high and wide as the main double doors to the Ushiromiya Head's mansion, yet it did not "stand" in the mud per say, but was levitating just off the ground, lest its Gothic dignity be sullied. The gold work was wrought with all manner of ostentation, and graced in thorned vines crawling up its length, like arteries and veins, blossoming into roses. As for the "way", it literally was a glowing portal shaped like a doorway that "hung" in midair of its own accord, visible only from one direction; hence, Battler's allegory of a "gateway".

How fantastical but it was also the sort of snobbish display he had come to expect. There was no point to get hung up over a little absurdity like it though, he had bigger fish to fry, so Battler strode forth confidently and touched the gate. Warm to the touch, like the rays of the sun, despite what his common sense expected, the priceless gold work came to life with an earthly groan, shifting its composition about to open the way for him. What was once a gateway soon melded into an archway, following the same theme of roses and butterflies prior to its transformations.

The light shining through was even brighter now, bathing the irreverent pilgrim in gold that seemed to soothe away his weariness, but before he would step through, Battler took note of a curiosity. Words had appeared in the arch, first in English, a script he professed he did not have a strength in, and as if sensing his distress, they changed to his familiar native tongue.

"Through me is the way to redemption; through me is the way into the righteous fire; through me is the way amongst the woeful sheep gone astray. O' Noble soul moved my lofty maker: the divine, the supreme, and the primal made me. Before me were no things created, unless eternal, and I eternal last. May thy sin be forgiven, ye who enter!"

So did Ushiromiya Battler read aloud to utter disbelief, a cold shock running him through like a sword, and his jaw slackened as the phlegm in his throat ran dry. He gaped and shuddered, hands balling into fists. His blood was----boiling! He could not believe it. The nerve. The audacity!

"What kind of a sick joke is this, Beatrice!?" he hissed, eyes flashing with outrage. "Who gave you the right to judge these people, my family, huh? You think you're some kind of clean and innocent angel sent by God to do His oh-so-filthy work?!"

The Golden Witch, of course, did not answer, even though she was watching him, surely, from some rose scented tearoom, having a good laugh over his face.

"Don't screw with me! You're no freaking avenging angel or whatever-spirit! I won't be fooled. You're a weak human, just like me, and I'll prove it. I'll break through your delusions! All of it. Just. YOU. WATCH. BEATRICE!"

With those words, the Lion of Red charged through the Gates of _Purgatorio_ and....

* * *

Sojourn on Mount Purgatory

Endless 1-4:

Down the Rabbit Hole

A When They Cry 3 fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

* * *

T'was a moonless night that greeted Ushiromiya Battler. Gone was the raging typhoon, and its wrath diluted to an ominous drizzle for indeed he had found himself in a precarious place. Here was a dark forest, mired in fog and wrangled with horrific gnarled trees, as if making to rake at him with their wizened, claw-like branches. Sapping cold hung in the starless air like a miasma that stole warmth from his lungs in a fine vapor mist. There were no paths here and all was veiled in the secrets of shadow.

More disturbing, perhaps, he could hear a dreadful choir singing in the distance, below the constant pitter-patter of hard rain. They were sighs, laments, and deep wailing that resounded in the farthest depths his soul, which threatened to make him weep. Strange tongues, suffering cries, words of woe, accents of anger, voice high and hoarse, and sounds of bodies with them sublimated into a tumultuous symphony, as if the very earth were breath, whirling forever in that air blighted without change, like a virus clinging to life in a whirlwind of moisture from a dying cough.

These were not the cries of the vanquished. Oh, no... It was the penitent cry of the wretched wanting for mercy and forgiveness.

Battler swooned terribly, a hand clutching at his face as vertigo seeped into his anguished body and soul, the strength bereft from his legs. Tears had come to the fore, an awful sadness that he feared he would never overcome, a sadness that would enslave and drag him down forever. He was-!

"Ho, there! Steady now, man," an unexpected presence intervened on his behalf, suave and magnificent, breaking his fall in its---_His _subtly powerful limbs.

The man's cologne shook Battler awake, an unusually complex masculine scent that spoke of eminent dignity and an impish elegance. There in his vision the shadow of a person began to fuzzily appear of a familiar youthful gentleman, wearing a regal butler's uniform embroidered with the One-winged Eagle crest.

"R-Ronove?!" Battler choked at the sight of Beatrice's incomprehensible demon butler.

Naturally, his stupefied astonishment was reflected right back at him in the lurid blue eyes of Ronove, the 27th highest demon in Hell, for whom capturing swooning maidens (and sometimes young boys) in the nude was child's play (but that is a story for another time).

"Why, Battler-sama, what an unexpected surprise that we have met here!"

It was then the fact dawned on the young man that _That_ Ronove was leaning in uncomfortably close to his face and person in general, having caught up him in some ridiculous theatrical flourish. Battler was totally not enjoying the idea of another man, much less a demon, having an arm around the small of his back. That. Sort of. Thing. Was like some fangirl's wet dream, dammit!

"_Pu ku ku ku_, doth I displease thee, Mi'lord?" Ronove baited him, delighting no doubt at seeing the rose coloring his cheeks. The demon had likely put two and two together long before he came to the same conclusion. Cheeky bastard. Thank goodness, his other white gloved hand was occupied with an umbrella.

"R...Ro-No-Ve," Battler seethed venomously, the cowl of his cloak largely failing to hide his blush, much to his private chagrin. "Personal. Space."

"But, Battler-sama!" the handsome demon feigned hurt, "have I not saved you from unwarranted harm on your person? Am I, your stalwart Ronove, not at least deserving of a word of thanks?"

On impulse, Battler pushed against Ronove in irritation with all his strength, despite not having regained his footing. Alas, he was no match for the demon butler, whose expression merely widened into a catty smile.

"Now, now, Battler-sama, there is no need for that. If I cannot have your thanks, then surely we can compromise on a different manner of---_appreciation_, yes?"

Red flashing alarms going off in his head, young Battler began to beat against his roguish benefactor's chest, again to no avail. Ronove was positively radiating an impish demeanor just like a cat that finally ate the canary, who had found solace in a gilded cage for so long.

"Ro-No-Ve! You...! You bastard!"

"Tsk, tsk, language, Battler-sama; language. ...though I admit your lack of refinement is one of your charms."

"L-Let go o'me! Y-You! YOU!"

"Come to think of it, this atmosphere reminds me of a conversation we had not long ago. To shake hands with you, Battler-sama...is that not right?"

"Sh-shaking hands?" Battler spluttered in reply. The sinking feeling in his stomach had ebbed into a cold knot at those words. "Ii-ihihihihi! Wh-what are you-"

"Yes, you did say you were a fan of those sort of situations in adolescent dramas and directed I engrave it into my heart. Therefore, to shake hands with you, Battler-sama, requires that I create a fitting atmosphere in a suitable location, and exchange sweet words and physical language with you that rings true to your heart. Though I have not prepared such a location, it appears the Demon's Roulette favors me this day, no?"

Battler paled and Ronove's smile curled into a scandalizing smirk, as the latter brought his face closer that their noses were almost touching, a taunting husky chuckle at his lips.

"Did I not warn you, Battler-sama, that I, Ronove, also lo~ve those kinds of situations? _Pu ku ku ku_...!"

Battler shied away into the cowl of his cloak as best he could, but there was no escape to be had from the demon butler's infernal grasp. Oh, Hell and damnation! What had he done to deserve this?

"Y-You... You creepy bastard! I didn't ask for this kind of atmosphere! L-Lem'me go, dammit! No way. No way. No way I'm shaking hands with you!"

"Ah, you honor me so with your spite, Mi'lord, but I must confess: _Mi'lord_, _doth protest too much_. _Pu ku ku ku_...! Shall I kiss thee, instead, to seal our everlasting friendship?"

"HIIIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! NO WAY! NO FRIGGIN' WAY! LEM'ME GO! Ah...h-hey, what are you doing with that other hand? AAAGHHHHH~hhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

(_O Mama mia, mama mia_) _Mama Mia_, _let him go_...

* * *

To be continued...


End file.
